Ghost in the Mirror
by J9
Summary: She was probably wondering what she was doing here, in his house,in his T-shirt, or at the very least, why she'd come here. He knew they were her thoughts because they were his too.
1. Reaching Out

Reaching Out

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Author: Jeanine (jeanine@iol.ie)

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Rating: PG

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Pairing: Sara/Warrick

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Spoilers: Minor for all of season one to be safe

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Feedback: Makes my day

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Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.

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Archive: At my site Checkmate (http://helsinkibaby.topcities.com/csi/csific.htm) , Fanfiction.net; anywhere else, please ask.

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Summary: _She was probably wondering what she was doing here, in his house, in his T-shirt, or at the very least, why she'd come here. He knew they were her thoughts because they were his too._

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She was tossing and turning, moving restlessly, the bedcovers rumpled and half off her, her face contorted in a frown. Her lips moved silently, but every so often a sound would escape, something that sounded almost like a name, drawn out in a moan. He frowned as he looked at her from across the room, wondering if he should wake her, wondering if she'd wake herself, and if she did, just what she'd think about him standing there, observing her like that. The realisation that she'd undoubtedly be left even more on edge than she had been earlier on gave him the impetus to move towards the bed, laying down the steaming cup of coffee on the bedside table before bending and putting his hand on her shoulder.

Even in her sleep, she flinched at the contact, squirming away from him, and he frowned, noting the single tear that tracked its way down her cheek. She moaned something then too, and this time, he knew that it was a name, but not one that he recognised. He tightened his grip on her shoulder, just a little, and shook her lightly, saying her name.

"Sara, wake up."

She followed his instructions, springing to wakefulness with a gasp and eyes wide with confusion as she stared first at him, then all around her. He straightened up, instinctively knowing what was going through her mind. Probably wondering what she was doing here, in his house, in his T-shirt. Or at the very least, why she'd come here.

He knew those were probably her thoughts because they were his too. 

He had just about managed to keep back his initial exclamation of surprise when he'd opened his front door, but only just. To say that she was the last person he'd expected to see standing there was something of an understatement. In all the time that they'd been working together, not once had Sara Sidle ever come to his home; in fact, were he still a betting man, he'd have laid good money that she didn't even know where he lived. 

Working as a CSI though, and before that, working the casinos, Warrick had developed quite a poker face, and it had served him well here. "Sara," he'd said simply, leaning against the doorframe. "What are you doing here?"

She'd shrugged, both hands on her back, just above her hips, and shifted on her feet nervously, looking around her. "I just…I was driving around, and I realised where I was, and I just…"

Her halting words had made Warrick look at her closely, and he hadn't missed the slight red tinge to her eyes, or the way that her eyes had darted around nervously, never settling on any one thing, and certainly not looking at him at all. She'd seemed jittery, ill at ease, a far cry from the consummate professional that he saw all the time at the lab.

Most of the time he'd mentally corrected himself. There were times when Sara could be hard to get along with - prickly was the word that he'd heard Catherine use to describe her, and he couldn't fault the choice. He'd certainly had more than his fair share of run-ins with her, and when she was in one of her moods, he'd usually made it a point to stay well away from her. Today though, it hadn't been the case that had Sara on edge, and no-one knew just what had yanked her chain. All they knew was that she'd come in at the start of the shift with a chip on her shoulder the size of an iceberg, and by shift's end, everyone knew about it. Grissom had been hovering around Sara like a concerned mother hen, just waiting to see a chink in her armour to talk to her about it. Catherine and Nick, who, unlike himself and Grissom, hadn't been working with Sara and thus were spared the worst of her mood, were nonetheless walking on eggshells around her. As for poor Greg, he'd made one innocent, although slightly off-colour comment about nothing of consequence, and she'd filleted him for it, to the extent that the normally ebullient lab tech was sticking to yes and no answers with her, for fear of being on the receiving end of another diatribe. 

Warrick had stayed on the periphery, as was his habit, watching, observing, but not interacting, keeping things strictly business, letting her have her space. He was trying not to become involved with the problem, because whatever was wrong, it was Sara's deal, not his, and she'd work it out in her own time. 

Then he'd opened his door and there she was. 

He'd been staring at her while she'd talked, and she'd broken off suddenly, shaking her head, rubbing her forehead with one hand. "Look, I shouldn't have come, I'm sorry I interrupted you…" She'd turned to walk away, and had taken a couple of steps before he'd known what he was going to do. 

"Sara."

It was hard to say who'd been more surprised when he'd called after her. But she'd stopped nonetheless, turning back and looking at him curiously. 

"I was just going to cook something." A long pause. "You hungry?"

She hadn't moved for a moment, then a slow smile had spread across her face, and once again, Warrick's well-practised poker face had been all that had saved him. He hadn't seen Sara smile like that all day, and before that only rarely. "That sounds good," she'd told him, walking back up to his front door. 

He'd stepped back to let her in, closing the door behind them. Once inside, he'd headed back to the kitchen, to his interrupted work, and she'd followed him in, pausing to look around the living room. "This is a nice place," she'd called to him after a few minutes, and the words, the genuine surprise in her voice had him leaning back so that he could see through the connecting doorway to look at her. She'd been pacing the room, inspecting the paintings on the wall, the photos on the tables, her eyes slightly narrowed in concentration. He'd walked enough crime scenes with her to know that she was cataloguing everything, weighing the evidence, trying to see if her image of him gelled with this house that he was living in. 

"Yeah," had been his only answer before he moved back to his cooking. 

He hadn't looked up until he'd heard footsteps, and when he'd glanced over to the doorway, she was there, leaning against the frame, the same posture he'd adopted when he first opened the door to her. "It's not what I expected. This place."

He'd chuckled. He got that a lot. "What did you expect?" He had a fairly good idea, but he was curious as to how she'd answer the question.

"Typical bachelor pad," she'd answered with a shrug and a grin. "Messy… fast food boxes all over the place, clothes everywhere…" The opposite to what she'd found in fact.

"This was my grandmother's house," he'd explained, and she'd nodded in sudden understanding, her mouth forming a silent "Ah." "I grew up here," he'd added after a second. "I never knew my dad, he split before I was born. Mom and I lived here with Grams, until I was seven." He'd had to concentrate very hard on the frying pan then, his throat closing suddenly, which surprised him. It had been a long time ago after all; he didn't know why he was having trouble talking about it now. 

"What happened then?" Sara's voice had gone very quiet, almost timid. 

"My mom was killed in a car accident. Drunk driver." He could still remember being woken in the night by his grandmother's screams, still see her standing in his bedroom door, silhouetted by the lights of the hall behind her, getting ready to tell him that his mother was never coming home. 

"I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago," he'd shrugged. "Grams raised me after that…and when she died, I got this place."

She'd stepped into the kitchen, again taking everything in as she moved over to the table, sitting down. "And you never wanted to move? Make a new start somewhere else?"

"Nope." He'd considered it a couple of times, but only briefly. "This is home." He'd turned to her, plate in hand, and put it down on the table in front of her. "There you go."

Her nose had wrinkled as she sniffed the omelette he'd put in front of her. "This smells really good," she'd exclaimed, and he'd raised an eyebrow at the surprise in her voice. 

"Gram's secret recipe," he'd told her, choosing not to tease her about her lack of confidence in his culinary abilities. There had been something brittle about her at that moment that he'd never seen, and he hadn't wanted to upset her. "There's soda in the fridge, help yourself."

She had, getting one for him while she was at it, and he'd joined her at the table. The two of them had eaten in near silence, the only sound in the room the clink and scrape of cutlery against china. When both plates were empty, he'd picked them up, putting them into the dishwasher and turning it on. Turning, he saw that she'd already left the table, and the muted sounds of the television spoke of channels being rapidly flipped through. She'd been moving through them so quickly that he couldn't make out what was on each one, but she hadn't slowed down, nor had she looked over at him when he sat down on the couch beside her. 

"You ok?" he'd asked her after she'd cycled through all the channels twice. The hard set of her jaw relaxed only slightly when she looked over at him briefly, giving him a quick, totally insincere grin. 

"Just looking for a little good TV in an uncivilised world," she'd shrugged, turning her attention back to the set. 

He'd considered asking her more, then thought better of it, instead following her gaze to the television, reaching out and grabbing the remote from her when he saw a flash of something whizzing by. Her indignant cry had him stifling a grin; at least something had penetrated whatever suit of armour she'd put on, but all he'd said was "What? Don't tell me you don't like _Happy Days._" Sure enough, after zapping back down, there had been the Fonz in all his glory, arguing with an impossibly young Ron Howard, back before Hollywood stardom had beckoned him. 

"You?" Her voice had been frankly sceptical, and when he'd risked a glance over at her, both eyebrows had been raised. "You like _Happy Days_?"

"The Fonz?" The name alone had been in the form of a question, and she'd stared at him for maybe five seconds before amusement got the better of her, and she burst out laughing. But she'd leaned back against the couch cushions, legs curled up underneath her, and she'd looked at the show without further comment. 

When the episode had ended, he'd looked at her again, and this time, it had been his turn to chuckle to himself. Her head had been resting against the back of the couch, her body turned so that she faced him, eyes closed. He'd noticed for the first time the dark circles under her eyes, wondered when it was that she'd last had a good night's sleep. He'd hated to disturb her, but sleeping all pretzeled up like that was no good for anyone, so he'd reached out, touching her shoulder gently. The touch had been enough to have her blinking, and she lifted her head slowly. "What time is it?" she mumbled.

He'd glanced at his watch. "Time we were both getting some sleep before the shift," he'd admitted. 

She'd nodded sleepily, sitting up properly on the couch and rubbing her eyes. "I should go." 

"Oh no." His response had been immediate, and she'd looked at him sharply, frowning in curiosity. "You think I'm going to let you drive through Las Vegas falling asleep at the wheel?" A tired smile had crossed her face, and he'd continued, keeping his voice as normal as possible. "Knowing my luck, you'd get yourself into an accident and I'd have to explain to Catherine and Nick why we were doing overtime covering your work." She'd rolled her eyes as he stood, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb. "C'mon, you can have the guest room."

"You'd better be careful Warrick," she'd told him quietly, following him up the stairs. "People are gonna think that you like me."

He'd chuckled. "Not much chance of that," he'd muttered teasingly, opening the door for her. "I'll get you a T-shirt or something…"

When he'd come back, he'd found her sitting on the bed, back ramrod straight, knees locked together, her hands joined in her lap. He'd given her the shirt and she'd given him a tight smile in response. If it had been supposed to reassure him, it had failed spectacularly. "Bathroom's down the hall," he told her. "I'll call you later."

She'd nodded, but hadn't otherwise moved, and he'd left her there like that, not knowing what else to do. Her voice had stopped him at the door, the sound of his name a quiet shout. He'd turned to look at her, but her gaze was fixed on the carpet. "Thank you."

He'd wanted to ask her if she wanted to talk; he'd wanted to ask her what was bothering her; he'd wanted to get her to open up to him. 

Instead he'd gone to his room and tried to get some sleep. He'd succeeded too, waking before the alarm went off, showering and dressing, but not waking Sara, not until he'd made the first pot of coffee. He'd knocked first, but she hadn't responded, and that had been when he'd opened the door millimetre by careful millimetre, moving to wake her when he'd seen her restless sleep. 

"It's ok," he found himself saying now; anything to fill the silence in the room, silence broken only by her ragged breathing. "It was just a dream."

"Yeah…" She took a deep breath, sitting up properly and drawing her knees up to her chin. "Just a dream."

"There's plenty of time before the shift," he told her. "I brought you coffee-" He pointed to the bedside table. "-And there's fresh towels in the bathroom." Her only movement was to draw her knees up to her chin, wrapping her arms around them, resting her cheek against her knees and closing her eyes. "I'll be around," he told her, wanting to give her some space, turning to leave.

He was stopped in his tracks by her hand closing around his wrist, and when he looked at her, her dark eyes were wide pools of hurt and confusion. She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again, shaking her head. 

He sighed. "Move over," was all he said, and she complied, scooting over to give him room to sit on the bed, back against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle. 

She dropped his arm, ending up sitting curled up in a ball, as if she was trying to make herself as small as possible. Warrick waited for her to speak first, knowing that the worst thing that he could do right now was to rush her. Still, her first words weren't what he expected. "Were you an only child?"

"Yep. Just me and Grams."

She nodded slowly. "I have two brothers. Paul and Daniel. And one sister. Shona."

The last name made him blink, because that was the name that he'd heard her say as he tried to wake her up. "You guys close?"

"Twins," she told him. "Identical. Right up until we smiled." He tilted his head, not understanding, and she looked at him, biting her lower lip so that he could see her two front teeth, tapping one lightly. "It was the only way that people could tell us apart, even some of our family. When you're a twin, people are used to seeing the two of you together, you're never just Sara. You're one of the twins, one of the girls. You get used to answering to a name that's not your own. It used to drive us crazy, because of course, we could tell the difference just fine. When we got older, we started having fun with it, especially when we got to college. I was at Harvard, she went to Berkeley, and when we'd visit one another, sometimes we'd dress the same on purpose, just to see people's reactions. We both had this really long hair, down to our waists…we'd turn a lot of heads, because people weren't used to seeing twins so alike at our age…" There was a wistful smile on her face, and Warrick knew that she was ten years in the past, reliving those days. 

"I was the scientist, she was the artsy one. She passed high school physics by the skin of her teeth; I was top of the AP class. We used to joke that even if I wanted to, I could never take her final, it'd be too obvious with the results. She wanted to be a teacher; elementary school. She would've been great at it too; she had a way with kids. She was the patient one; I was the one who flew off the handle. She used to get the job of calming me down. She was the only one who could." 

She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "It was our final year in college. We were hoping to get a place together in San Francisco after graduation. She'd be teaching; I was hoping to get a job somewhere, anywhere. It was early on a Thursday morning, I remember, because I had an early lab, and it was a killer. I remember bitching to my roommate, looking for an excuse not to go. There was a knock at the door, and when I opened it, it was my best friend Joely. She lived on the floor above us, and I was going to ask her what she was doing there that early, when my phone rang. It was my dad." She swallowed hard. "He'd called Joely first, so that there'd be someone there with me when he told me that they'd found Shona's body early that morning. She'd been raped and beaten and strangled."

"I screamed; at least, that's what they told me. They had to get someone from Student Health to give me something to calm me down. When that wore off, Joely had already taken charge; she'd packed my clothes, and her clothes and booked flights home for us. The school were very understanding, they didn't even care when I missed my lab that morning. The funeral…God, you've never seen anything like it. I kept waiting for someone to wake me up; tell me it had all been a dream. And what made it worse was that people kept on looking at me, and I knew that they were thinking that I looked just like her. That's what it's been like since then. Every birthday, every Christmas, every time that the family is all together, there's this missing piece, this hole, and I'm this constant reminder of who's missing. My grandmother couldn't look at me for the first six months; she just kept crying every time she saw me. Not that I blame her…I could hardly bring myself to look in the mirror." 

There was nothing Warrick could say, and in lieu of words he reached out his hand, resting it on her back. When she didn't react to its presence, he began sliding it up and down slowly, feeling the heat of her body through the too-big T-shirt. She turned her head slightly so that she could see him then, giving him a sad smile. "There's so much in this job that's unnatural," she told him. "But nothing like that. All my life, I was one of two, part of a set, and then I wasn't anymore. Everywhere I went, everything I did, it just reminded me that she wasn't there. I still find myself picking up the phone to call her, to tell her something I know she'd laugh at. Times when I see myself in a mirror, just out of the corner of my eye, and I almost think that it's her standing there. "

The room was silent, save for the ragged sound of her breathing. "Did they find who did it?" Warrick finally asked.

Her lips twisted in a grimace. "Not officially." He must have frowned, because she closed her eyes for a second, as if she was summoning up the courage to speak. "She was dating this guy. Eric…I didn't like him much. I thought he was arrogant …overbearing …but she was crazy about him. Except, sometimes I'd call her, and he'd answer, tell me that she wasn't there, but he wouldn't pass along the messages. Or she'd say something that made me think everything wasn't as perfect as she was making out. It was never anything overt, anything obvious." She shrugged. "Put it down to a twin thing, I don't know. Anyway, about two weeks before, she called me, hysterical. Told me she'd tried to break up with him, and he'd gone crazy. Told her that he couldn't live without her. She'd calmed him down, wanted to know what I thought she should do. I told her that she should go through with it." She paused, taking in a shuddering breath. "I don't know if she did."

"You think he…"

"Oh, I don't think," she interrupted him, sounding more certain than she'd done since she'd begun talking. "I know. I know he did it. But there was no evidence. The police investigated; they even thought that he was guilty. But they couldn't prove it. He went on with his life…he stood right there beside us at the funeral, crying." Her jaw stiffened in anger. "I wanted to kill him."

Hearing this from the woman who had once told him and the rest of the shift that she could never take a human life spoke volumes to Warrick. There was only one more thing that puzzled him. "Why now?" he asked, and he felt her lungs expand under his hand as she took another deep breath, then another. 

"My dad called me before the shift. I thought he was just calling to chat; I even tried to rush him off the line. Then I heard his voice…I've only heard him sound like that once before." She paused, swallowing hard. "It seems that Eric's fiancée has disappeared. That her friends reported her missing, that there were complaints of abuse against him…"

Her voice trailed off, and it was Warrick's turn to clench his jaw. "Damn," he muttered softly. 

"Yeah." She turned to look at him then, and her smile was bitter. 

"Does anyone else know?"

Sara shook her head. "I don't talk about her much. Not with people who didn't know us. It just…it still hurts too much." The last was a murmur, but he just managed to catch it. "I think that's why I came here last night. Grissom's the boss, you know? Nick, he'd be all over me with questions, and Catherine, she's got her kid. I just needed someone to… to listen, not to ask questions, just to be there. You know?"

"Yeah." Warrick's hand moved up her back to her shoulder, settling there for a moment and squeezing gently. "I know."

They sat like that for a long moment, then she straightened her back, lifting her head and rubbing her hands over her eyes. "Thank you," she whispered finally. 

"Any time," he replied, giving her shoulder another squeeze before swinging his legs back onto the floor. "I was gonna make some pasta before the shift; carb up for the day. You want?"

She smiled, and he couldn't help but notice that she seemed lighter somehow, more relaxed. "What kind of sauce?" 

"The kind that comes in a jar."

"The best kind." The last thing he saw before he closed the door was the smile on her face. 


	2. Holding On

Holding On

When she came down from the shower, she looked significantly better than she had at any time since she'd arrived at his house the night before. Her hair was falling around her shoulders in damp ringlets, her cheeks pink from the hot water, her whole manner more relaxed than she'd been in the last twenty-four hours. They talked while they ate, small talk about the case that they were working on, throwing theories and guesswork around, and when both plates were empty, she stood and said that she'd better go home to change before the shift. 

"Wouldn't want people talking about you," Warrick agreed, knowing that after her mood yesterday, both Nick and Greg would be keeping a close eye on her. To say that those two weren't the most discreet of persons was to put it mildly, and if Sara showed up wearing the same clothes two days in a row, rumours were bound to get started. "Leave those," he told her as she started piling the dishes together. "I'll do them."

She glanced up at him quickly, then did as she was told. She stayed standing, seemingly at a loss for what to do with her hands, first crossing them, then joining them behind her back, then resting them on her hips. He didn't say anything, just stood up and brought the dishes over to the sink. When he turned back to her, her hands were resting on the table, tapping the top restlessly. "Warrick…"

She ran out of steam then, and he lifted an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. 

"Just…thank you." Her cheeks were pink, and this time, he knew that it wasn't from the shower. 

"Any time," he told her, and he was surprised to find that he meant it. He walked her to the door, amid promises that he'd cover for her with Grissom if she was late, and of course, that he'd owe her big time. In turn, she told him that she wouldn't be late. 

Nor was she. 

He didn't miss the fact that she was significantly more relaxed than she had been the previous day, nor did anyone else. Once more, he tried to stay out of the conversations, and he succeeded, until he overheard Nick and Greg in the lab discussing the whys and wherefores of what might have been going on with her. They'd turned to him, as if to ask for his input, but mercifully, Grissom had appeared at the door, calling him out to the crime scene, telling him that Sara was waiting in the car. 

They put in a full shift's work and more, combing the crime scene, analysing prints and fibres, and near to the end of the shift, they got a call from Doctor Robbins, asking them to come see something he'd discovered in the autopsy. They were on their way in when a beeper went off, and Warrick, Sara and Grissom all checked theirs. "Not me," Warrick said, glancing over at Grissom, who was also shaking his head. 

"It's me," Sara said, her voice sounding very far away, eyes narrowed as she studied the display. Her jaw tightened, and Warrick could almost see tension settling over her like a blanket. "You mind if I take this?" she asked, looking quickly at Grissom, then Warrick, then back to Grissom again. "It's important."

"Sure," Grissom said. "See you in there." Sara nodded, turning quickly, not looking at Warrick again, heading quickly down the hall in the direction of the break room. Warrick stood, watching her retreating back, jumping when he heard Grissom's voice behind him. "Warrick?" When he turned, Grissom was eyeing him curiously. "Coming?"

His lips quirking up in a sheepish smile, Warrick followed him in, listening with interest as Doctor Robbins took them through his autopsy findings, paying special attention to the stab wounds on the victim's back, and in particular, the fact that they had been caused by a blade with serrated edges. "You want me to mould the wounds right?" Warrick asked, already ahead of Grissom, wincing at the thought of the overtime that surely lay ahead of him. 

"A serrated blade is unusual," Grissom said, thinking out loud. "Sara can go to the dealer that she talked to before…" He stopped, looking around him as if he'd just realised something. "Come to think of it, where is Sara?"

Warrick looked around, realising for the first time that Sara hadn't arrived, glancing up at the clock, eyes narrowing as he calculated just how long they'd been there. The memory of the look in her eyes when she'd seen the pager display, the way that she'd studiously avoided his gaze, had a surge of worry unfurling in his stomach, and he pulled the ugly white smock away from his body. "Why don't I go look for her? Tell her what's up." 

From the tone of his voice, it wasn't a suggestion, and Grissom simply nodded, not asking any questions, something for which Warrick was grateful. He paused when he got to the hallway, wondering where she'd be, before deciding to go where he'd last seen her heading; towards the break room. After all, there was a phone there, that must have been where she was going; maybe she was still there.

He could see from the window that she was, moreover that she was still on the phone, her back to the window, one hand above her head on the wall, as if that was the only thing holding her up. As he watched, she hung up the phone, leaning against it and the wall, and from clear outside the room, he could see her shoulders shaking. Looking from left to right, he saw an empty hallway, and, hoping he was doing the right thing, he stepped into the room. She jumped slightly when the door clicked shut behind him, and he could see her hand going up to her face, but she didn't turn around. "It's me," he said softly, and he was gratified to hear her chuckle slightly. 

"Grissom sent out the search party?" she asked, still with her back to him. He frowned, hearing the obvious catch and tremor in her voice.

"He didn't need to," he said simply, moving closer to her, standing so that his hip was resting against the table in the centre of the kitchen unit. "You ok?"

"I'm fine," she told him, turning then, and he kept his face neutral with difficulty. Her face was chalk white, devoid of any colour, making the redness of her eyes stand out even more. 

"Yeah?" He didn't believe her, and the single word would leave her in no doubt of that. 

One hand went to her hip, the other to the top of her head, scratching as her eyes screwed up in confusion. "That was my dad," she admitted, beginning to pace restlessly around the room. "He said he'd been calling me all day; I had my cell phone switched off. I didn't want to… I didn't want…" Her voice trailed off and she pushed her hair back with both hands, holding it there. "He said that they had found a body…that they had evidence on Eric…"

Warrick took a couple of steps closer to her, pursing his lips in disgust. "Son of a bitch," he muttered. 

"…They say that they're sure he killed her…they're just waiting to charge him…" She looked at him then, their eyes meeting, and if anything, the pain he saw there was worse than he'd seen that morning. "Dad said…" Her voice caught on a half-sob. "He said that they're re-opening Shona's case…they think…" Her hand went to her mouth, and she paled even further, something Warrick wouldn't have said was possible, and he could see her being to sway on her feet. 

Moving quickly, he caught her by the shoulders, guiding her over to the more comfortable chairs, pushing her down onto one of the arms. She braced her hands on her knees, leaning over slightly, breathing hard, dropping her head, and he continued to hold her by the shoulders, supporting her until her breathing levelled off. He didn't speak until she lifted her head to look up at him. "Better?" he asked, and she shook her head soundlessly. "C'mere," he sighed, pulling her towards him. She went willingly, arms loose at her side, her head nestling in the centre of his chest, his arms wrapping around her shoulders. "It's ok," he told her quietly, feeling her shaking, but not crying. "It's gonna be ok."

She didn't move, didn't show any signs of moving, not until the door opened and she sprang up, bracing herself with her hands on the arm of the chair. Both she and Warrick turned to see Grissom standing there, curiosity in his eyes, but no other emotion discernible on his face. "Sara?" he asked, looking from her to Warrick, but she didn't reply, just looked down at the floor. 

"Sara just got some news," Warrick found himself saying. "Family emergency."

"Oh." Grissom pondered that for a second. "You need some time off?"

Sara blinked slowly. "I don't… I don't know Grissom. Maybe…I don't know."

The slightest of frowns appeared between Grissom's eyebrows, and Warrick jumped in before he could ask any other questions. "I was gonna take her home." He eyed the clock significantly. "We're on overtime as it is, and the knife shop'll wait for a couple of hours."

Any other time, Grissom might have objected. Hell, any other time, Sara and Warrick both would have too. But right now, Sara wasn't in any condition to work, and Warrick's hand was on her shoulder, where it had fallen to help steady her when Grissom first came in, and Grissom didn't blink. "Sure. I'll see you guys later."

"Yeah." Warrick nodded at his boss and took Sara by the elbow, helping her up. "Come on, let's get you home." He let her walk ahead of him, his hand barely grazing her back, and he could feel Grissom's eyes on them the whole way down the hall. 

It was a measure of Sara's state of mind that she didn't speak as she got her jacket from her locker, letting Warrick lead her out to the car park, stopping only when he held open his passenger door for her. "This isn't my car," she said, looking at him with eyes that were only half focussed. 

He just looked at her. "You think I'm gonna let you drive?" She closed her eyes for a second, then shook her head in defeat and climbed into the car. Once she sat down, she closed her eyes again, allowing him to drive all the way back to his place without either one of them saying a word. She only reacted when he stopped the car, and she looked around her, seeing where she was for the first time. 

"This isn't my place."

"I know."

His words brought a ghost of a smile to her face. "You could have dropped me off."

He raised one eyebrow. "You think I'm gonna leave you alone?" She smiled broadly at that, gap toothed grin and all, and he shrugged offhandedly, not wanting to show her how relieved that simple gesture made him. "Come on in."

When they got indoors, she made a beeline for the couch, stripping off her jacket as she walked. She slumped down on the couch in a boneless heap, closing her eyes and tilting her head back, letting out a long breath. The jacket fell to the floor beside her and he picked it up, hanging it beside his before going back over to her. He stood looking down at her for a minute, then asked, "You need anything?"

Her eyes opened a sliver and she shook her head. "I'm so tired Warrick," she whispered, her voice almost inaudible. 

Sighing, he sat down beside her, leaving a generous amount of space between them, not wanting to crowd her. "Then you should sleep."

"I'm afraid to." Her voice stayed at the same level, but much to his surprise, she shifted so that she closed the distance between them, sitting close enough that her head rested on his shoulder. "I don't know what I'll see if I do." She sucked in a ragged breath. "I've lived with this for so long, the not knowing, the not being sure. I don't know how to live with closure. With maybe knowing what happened…" She turned brown eyes filled with tears up to him, pressing white knuckles to her lips. "I don't…"

Something made him reach up, taking her hand away from her mouth, holding it in between both of his, ice encased in heat. "You'll be fine." His words were firm, confident, and she blinked in surprise. 

"You don't know that," she choked out. 

"I know you." At that, a tear spilled over, tracing its way down her cheek. "You'll get through this Sara. We're all here for you. Whatever it takes."

She held his gaze, swallowing hard, then dropped her head back on to his shoulder. Warrick turned his head slightly, his cheek resting on top of her head, his breath moving the fine strands of hair, his hands still holding hers. The silence stretched until Warrick felt the first spot of dampness hit his shoulder, followed by another. Pulling his head back, he looked at her, and saw that she was crying; not sobbing or shaking, just a steady stream of tears making their way down her cheeks. Without stopping to think, he shifted in his seat, releasing her hand and wrapping one arm around her shoulders, holding her to him tightly. 

He wasn't sure how much later it was when she pulled away, wiping her face with both hands. "Thank you. Again," she breathed, resting her elbows on her knees, chin on her fists. 

Warrick shrugged. "Any time," he told her, the same words that he'd said to her earlier on that morning, and he saw her smile tiredly as the realisation hit her. "You ready to turn in?"

Sara nodded, standing and stretching, rolling her shoulders. "Same place as last night?"

He chuckled. "Shirt's under the pillow."

She turned to him inquiringly. "You were expecting me?"

"Nah. Just lazy."

She looked up, shaking her head in amusement, then stilled, her face going slack. There was no reason for that that Warrick could think of, not until he followed her gaze, saw where she was looking. Her own face peered back at her from the hall mirror, staring transfixed from the glass, stunning her into immobility, but he knew, without even asking, that it wasn't her face that he was seeing. 

"Sara." He spoke her name quietly, hands resting on her shoulders, squeezing ever so gently, and she looked up, forcing a smile to her face. "Let's go."


	3. Letting Go

Letting Go

"I finally came to see you."

The California sun was shining brightly down on her, the grass she was sitting on was warm, but Sara still felt cold. She wrapped her arms around her to ward off the chill, bringing her knees up to her chin, resting her head there. In front of her, the black marble tombstone seemed to shimmer, the name and dates blurring, and she reached up to wipe a tear from her eye.

"I know it's been a long time. Mom tells me that I should come home more, but you know how it is." 

Sara didn't come back home often, preferring to stay away from family gatherings. Ever since Shona had died, something had been missing, and she'd felt it more keenly than anyone. Eric's arrest hadn't changed that, and she still hadn't come home for Christmas, or for her birthday, knowing that either occasion would bring family out of the woodwork. Instead, she'd waited, choosing a weekend of no significance whatsoever to travel home. Paul was still in Boston, Daniel in New York, and she hadn't told either of them that she was going to California. She'd been sure that they both would have instantly made plans to fly home; to see her, because she didn't go to visit them much either. This was going to be the first time that she'd been home in almost three years, and she knew that it was going to be bad enough facing Mom without adding her two big brothers into the mix. 

Half of her had been dreading this trip, even as the other half knew that she had to do it, had to face her ghosts. 

It hadn't been what she'd expected though. 

"It's funny; I thought it'd be harder. Seeing everyone again, after everything. But it hasn't. Maybe I'm finally getting better at handling this."

She'd made a conscious decision not to follow any of the details of Eric's case, although she knew that it would have been a simple matter to make some phone calls, either on her own, or with the help of Grissom and Brass, to find out what the evidence looked like, what exactly was in the police file. She could have done it, but she hadn't wanted to. She hadn't even read as much as the newspaper reports on the case. Her parents and brothers hadn't adopted the same philosophy, and each of them kept her up to date with the latest developments. They'd told her that Eric had confessed to killing his girlfriend; not that he had a choice. The forensic evidence was strong enough that conviction was a certainty. Re-examination of Shona's case had produced enough further evidence to bring charges against him for her murder too, and while he hadn't confessed, the District Attorney had filed charges against him on two counts of murder. 

After all that time, all the lies, all the running away, it was finally over. 

Now she just had to figure out how she felt about it. How she was going to go on with her life. 

She'd done it once before. Mom and Dad had wanted her to take some time off school when Shona had died, wanting their only remaining daughter to be close to them. But Sara had seen the look of pain in their eyes every time they looked at her, and she hadn't wanted to deal with that day in, day out. It was bad enough that she could hardly look in the mirror without seeing that same trauma echoed and magnified in her family's faces. So she'd gone back to Boston, taken up her classes again, stopped bitching about her morning lab, and she'd learned to live with it. Learned to live without the other part of herself. Learned to look in the mirror again, although that had been easier once she'd cut her hair. Shona had never had hair down to her shoulders; they'd always kept their hair long. The face in the mirror didn't look as much like her anymore, and Sara had learned that you could be relieved and heartbroken by something at the same time. 

Forensics had been something that had intrigued her, but nothing that she'd ever considered as a career option. That changed during her senior year, and by graduation, she knew that it was what she wanted to do. Her parents had questioned the decision, wondering if she was acting out of grief, and she'd told them that it was her life, her decision. She couldn't deny though, that every time she solved a case, she felt good, as if she was helping a family receive the closure hers had been denied. 

Until the day that her father called her in Vegas, and she hadn't known where to turn. 

She'd been nervous about facing Grissom the day after he'd walked in on her and Warrick in the break room, knowing that she'd been a basket case, knowing that he must have been wondering what the hell was going on. She'd half-expected him to sit her down, try to talk to her, but he'd just looked at her and asked, "You ok?"

She'd nodded, swallowing hard and shifting on her feet. "Yeah…I'm sorry about…"

"Hey." He'd stopped her by holding up a hand. "It was a family emergency. Right?" She'd nodded, he'd shrugged. "That's all you have to say." 

He hadn't said anything else, gone straight into talking about serrated edges and casts of stab wounds, not mentioning how she'd come in with Warrick that day, or how she was wearing the same clothes she'd been wearing the day before. The last two facts hadn't escaped Greg and Nick however, and they weren't as circumspect as Grissom, needling her gently, and Warrick not so gently about what was going on between them. 

She'd told them at the time, as calmly as possible, that she'd had some bad news, and that Warrick had been there to help her out, that there was nothing more to it than that. She hadn't meant for her voice to catch when she spoke, and there had been a tremor in her hand that she was trying to mask, both of which had been noticed, but unremarked upon, by the two men. 

What she hadn't mentioned was that Warrick was going to take her out for breakfast when they got off shift, but they soon cottoned on to that fact when it became a regular occurrence. 

By the time that she and Warrick began arriving to and leaving from work together every day, Nick and Greg weren't saying anything about it, just smiling knowingly. 

And when she'd told him that she was going to California for the weekend, and that Warrick was going with her, Nick had simply chuckled, and spent the rest of the shift whistling something that sounded suspiciously like "Chapel of Love" every time that she or Warrick were within earshot. 

She'd never meant for anything like that to happen between them. She'd just gone to his house, looking to not be on her own. She'd never expected to find herself opening up to him so easily though, never expected him to be such a good listener. And once she'd told him, once he'd known what she was going through, he'd been there for her every step of the way, until one day she looked at him and realised that friendship had given way to something more. 

"Warrick's been fantastic through all this," she said now. "He's a great guy Shona; you'd really like him." She glanced over her shoulder, at Warrick leaning against the side of the car, arms folded across his chest, eyes trained firmly on her. "Mom's been freaking him out, hovering over us, making sure that we don't want for anything… it's funny." She'd had to bite the inside of her cheek several times already to keep from laughing at the look of barely disguised panic that she'd caught creeping into Warrick's usually impassive face. He hadn't quite known what to expect, he'd told her the previous night when they were lying in bed, and she'd teased him about being scared of her mother. 

"Damn right I'm scared," he told her, poking a finger in her side, causing her to squirm and bite back a squeal. "The woman who taught you all you know?" She'd lifted her head to mock-glare at him, then dropped her head back on to his chest, sighing. One of his hands had been making lazy circles on her back, and it stopped then, moving to cup her chin, tilting her head up. "You ok?"

She'd lost count of all the times he'd asked her that that day; when they were packing that morning, when they were waiting in the airport, when her head was resting on his shoulder on the plane. When she'd pulled up outside her parent's house, the house where she'd grown up, and she'd just sat there, knuckles white on the steering wheel, unable to move. It had taken his hand closing over hers, the gentleness in his soft green eyes to get her to move, and it had only been his hand on the small of her back that enabled her to walk up the driveway, had made her stay when Mom had taken her time in coming to the door. 

"It's strange," she'd told him. "Being back here. I keep expecting to see her." 

Things had improved for her since she'd been seeing Warrick. She didn't have nightmares, hadn't seen the ghost in the mirror for a long time. But being back in California after so long, and seeing the house through Warrick's eyes had stirred up the emotions she'd thought she'd left behind. She'd noticed his start of surprise at the numerous photographs scattered throughout the house of her and Shona, in some cases, two identical girls side by side, indistinguishable save for a smile, in others, seemingly two different pictures of the same girl, taken at the same time; different periods in their life, stopping when they were twenty-one. 

"You want to talk about it?" he'd asked her, a worried frown creasing his features, but she'd smiled, shaking her head. 

"I just want to sleep." 

He'd held her as they'd drifted off, and much to her surprise, she slept through the night, only waking to the pleasurable feeling of kisses being placed along the back of her neck, even as a pair of nimble hands worked their way under the too-big T-shirt that she'd worn for the first time some seven months ago. A quick check of the clock had told her that it was just past nine in the morning; which meant that Dad had probably left for work, and that Mom was probably pottering around in the kitchen, doing the chores as quietly as possible, so as not to disturb the prodigal daughter. She'd turned to him, protesting in a whisper that they really shouldn't, and he'd given her a quizzical look, not surprisingly considering that her own hands were quite busy working his tank top off his body. They'd made love slowly, quietly, and she was halfway to dozing peacefully on his shoulder when she felt a kiss to the top of her head, and heard him whisper something to her that she wasn't sure she was supposed to hear. 

She hadn't ever expected to feel like this; not about Warrick, not about anyone. Once you'd had someone in your life, all your life, who was so close to you, only to have that person ripped away from you, the way you interacted with other people tended to change. Shona had been the one that Sara had always turned to, the one that she could always count on. No-one had ever been able to take her place in that regard; nor had Sara ever wanted anyone to. 

Warrick had done it without her even realising. 

"I never wanted this, you know," she said softly now, turning her gaze away from him, back to the grave. "He was just there, knowing just what to say, just what to do." She chuckled, imagining Shona's reaction to that. "You're probably thinking that he's a mind reader or something; I'm not so sure you're wrong come to think of it. But I'm glad he's around." She took a deep breath, a sudden lump appearing in her throat. "I just wish you still were."

There was a noise over her shoulder, and she looked around to see Warrick ambling towards her, his face still wearing that expression of vague concern. He didn't say anything when he reached her side, just slid his hands into his pockets, looking first at her, then at the tombstone; the name and dates shining golden. 

Shona Amanda Sidle. 

1971-1993

Beloved daughter, sister and friend.

"I'm all right," she told him, not waiting for him to ask, lifting her hand to him. He took it, helping her up, not releasing it once she stood. She stepped as close to him as she could, rising up on her toes to press her lips to his quickly, her other hand on his side. He returned her kiss, free hand on her back, moving up to cup her face when their lips separated. "Did you mean what you said this morning?" she asked him quietly, and briefly, the panicked look that she was beginning to associate with his reaction to her mother's questioning flashed across his face. 

Only briefly however; it cleared almost instantly, and he nodded. "I meant it," was all he said. 

She'd known that; she'd always known that. Just as she knew that what she was going to tell him now was something that he'd always known. "Good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Because I love you too." A smile broke over his face as the words settled in his brain, and he brought her to him, kissing her again. 

"Come on," she told him when they parted, throwing one last look over her shoulder. "Let's go home." Hand in hand, they walked from the graveyard, with her slipping into the driver's seat. She waited until both of them were belted in before she put the key in the ignition, and as always, she checked the rear view mirror before she turned it on. 

What she saw there had her stopping, staring. 

Her own face stared back at her. 

Her own face.

"Sara?" His voice had her looking to him, and he had his worried face on again. 

"I'm fine," she told him simply, reaching over and squeezing his hand quickly before putting the car into drive. "Let's go."


End file.
